Like Mr Darcy, Only A Lot Less Smooth
by cannyduh
Summary: Student Council President, Arthur Kirkland, thinks he's about as smooth as Mr. Darcy. Sadly, they are both about as awkward as a shark on land and really, how is he supposed to court someone he can't seem to remember? Gakuen Hetalia. UK/Can
1. Chapter 1

**Like Mr. Darcy, Only A Lot Less Smooth (And, Let's Face It, Mr. Darcy Wasn't Smooth To Begin With)**

I think story titles tell a fair bit about an author as well as story. So fair warning, I like my run on sentences a lot and parentheses are the life blood of my stories.

Written at school in a sudden, tea-driven burst of inspiration. I'll warn you in advance that I use British slang in my stories like I spread butter on my toast. Liberally. Sorry to any British readers even though you're a rarity on anyway. (I'll try my damndest to tone it down)

**Pairings: **Eventual, mark my words it will happen, UKCan

**Warnings: **Language, Slash (is this honestly a warning in _this_ fandom?)**  
**

**Disclaimer**: Hetalia, Pride and Prejudice, Starbucks, The Notebook and Ulysse Nardin and anything else you recognize belong to their respective owners. I own nothing but the shit storyline.

Oh, and just in case you get any ideas, no this is not a P&P/Hetalia cross over. And nope, you don't need to have read that book (since Arthur is awkward even without Mr. Darcy for comparison). Though I still recommend it because... Mr. Darcy.

* * *

The Ulysse Nardin Preparatory Academy (UN for short) located in Switzerland was where the who's who of the world sent their children for their education. It was the world's most prestigious academy, and if your child wasn't attending then you probably weren't worth knowing. After all, elitism is an attitude that surpasses national borders and language barriers. The elite loved to mingle with the elite, so it only made sense that they would made a school where their children could mingle with other upper-class children. As a result, there was a very rich mix of cultures in the school with at least one student from nearly every country in the world. They were the sons and daughters of the crème de la crème - they would be the future leaders of the world; they would hold the highest government positions and inherit the largest multinational companies.

But for the moment they were all struggling with a rather unfortunate thing called hormones, a dreadful amount of homework and pain-in-the-ass instructors.

At the very top of these elite children was the student council. They were the brightest, the richest and the ones who came from the best families... And this included Alfred Jones, for some reason, even though he didn't fit into any of those categories (well, in Arthur's humble opinion anyway). They were easily identifiable by the gold badges pinned to the navy blazers of their uniforms.

At the very top was the President, Arthur Kirkland who was the youngest son of a very old noble family in England (the line was so old they had probably rubbed shoulders with nearly all the kings and queens at some point). Nowadays, the family was mostly involved in government work or law. He ruled the academy in typical English fashion – with an iron fist.

Next in line was that philandering ponce, Francis Bonnefoy, the vice president. _He_ probably slept with someone to get his position... And probably to be allowed to attend he academy at all. Arthur had heard rumours that the frog had already been kicked out of nearly all the exclusive schools in Europe for depraved acts that would make even the most vulgar sailor's toes curl but he'd rather not repeat such things

Next was the treasurer, Ludwig Beilschmidt, heir to a major German auto manufacturer. Well, technically Gilbert, his older brother was the heir, but it was an accepted truth that there was no way in hell their parents would trust Gilbert with a multinational auto company. Ludwig kept track of the student council's (ridiculously large) budget. He also tended to run meetings since Arthur would occasionally get distracted by the urge to throttle Francis/Alfred/both into the ground. That boy was a godsend.

Next was the External Affairs Officer, Alfred. The position hadn't existed until he had run for it - probably made it up, the idiot. He insisted they had them in America for building relations with other schools, arranging tours for incoming students and a load of other bullshit Arthur didn't care to remember (his theory was that what the External Affairs Officer _really_ did in America was arrange weekly visits to McDonalds). Unfortunately, the student body and the principal bought Alfred's smooth talk and so the position was formally added to the Student Council. Arthur wasn't quite sure what work to assign an External Affairs Officer so Alfred usually got the work no one else wanted to do.

Aside from the five main positions, there were also class and year representatives who showed up to monthly meetings. However, it was clear who ran the school. The five were treated as school idols. They were given wide berth in the hallways, slept in a separate wing of the dormitories, attended private classes and-

Hang on a sec, _five_?

Arthur did a mental head count in the student council office. The room was larger and more finely furnished than most teacher's lounges in normal high schools. Their office was set up with four mahogany desks lined up in pairs on opposite sides of the walls. The two on the right were for the senior members, Francis and Ludwig. The two on the left were for the junior members, Alfred and… someone. Then, at the head of the room was Arthur's desk, directly in line with the double-doors that led into the office. There were even several plush couches lining the length of the room. They were meant for students that needed an audience with one of the members for one reason or another, but mostly they were used by lounging friends.

Anyway, Arthur could count five desks no problem but he could only see 4 blond heads (it was a bit of an unfortunate coincidence that they were all blond and it had sparked all sorts of corny nicknames like the Golden Five). More than once, Arthur had tried to force Francis into dying his hair brown in order to get rid of that blasted nickname.

More importantly, where and who the hell was their fifth member?

In the desk to his immediate right was Ludwig, studiously making financial statements (complete with a balance sheet, income statement and even following IFRS rules though they only really needed a journal recording transactions and the occasional budget report) despite Feliciano's valiant efforts to distract him with pasta. The Italian visited during lunch break and any study hall periods he had. Frankly, Arthur didn't know whether to call Feliciano one of Ludwig`s friends or a stalker, but as long as it didn't affect student council work he really didn't care.

Arthur spared an approving nod in Ludwig's direction before letting his eyes drift to the person occupying the desk next to the German. Immediately he scowled. Of course Francis would have his usual crowd of screeching harpies surrounding his desk as he lounged and did absolutely no work at all. Arthur quickly looked to the pair of desks on the opposite side of the room as he felt his blood pressure spike.

Alfred was sitting in his mess of a desk, eating a burger while his eyes were trained on his laptop screen. There was a steadily growing pile of discarded burger wrappers strewn across the surface and the near-by floor. Alfred's desk was an eyesore in an otherwise tidy office. Arthur severely doubted that he was doing his work judging from the glazed look in his eyes (in fact, he couldn't remember if he'd ever assigned work to Alfred at all). But that still left one desk and one member unaccounted for.

The last desk was empty. A laptop was resting on the surface, and he could see piles of papers neatly stacked together on one end. There were also personal touches on the table like a plush polar bear, so _someone_ was definitely using the desk. The only problem was who?

"Hey, Mattie, check this out!" Alfred called out through a mouthful of burger his eyes not straying from his computer screen.

Arthur stared in steadily rising horror as Alfred seemingly conversed with thin air. He was gesturing wildly at whatever website he stumbled upon and looking to his left where `Mattie' was presumably standing. There was a brief pause before he broke out in warm laughter as if the air suddenly whispered a hilarious comment to him.

Good lord - on top of a hero-complex, uncontrollable eating habits and being louder than a freight train, Alfred also had imaginary friends? What the hell did they even keep him around for?

Arthur marched up to Alfred's desk, ready to recommend the git a good psychiatrist when he noticed another boy leaning next to Alfred for a better view of the laptop. The boy had blond hair and glasses and looked vaguely familiar (though that could have been due to the fact that he looked strikingly like Alfred). He halted mid-step, half wondering if he was going insane as well for seeing the mysterious 'Mattie' or if maybe this boy was a fairy of some sort and maybe Alfred wasn't so crazy after all since seeing fairies was definitely not insane-

"Problem, Arthur?" Alfred asked, finally noticing the student council president standing awkwardly in the middle of the office.

Everyone's attention was immediately fixed on him, including Alfred's maybe-not-so imaginary friend who finally tore his eyes from the laptop screen to stare at Arthur. It was when violet eyes met green that he finally remembered and just barely refrained from slapping himself on the forehead.

Of course - Matthew Williams.

Really, how could he forget? The boy had been plaguing his thoughts for a good month now.

Matthew Williams, a Canadian from a family of some sort of technology parts manufacturer, was the secretary of the student council. He wrote neat and diligent notes on meetings for the rest of the members, sent out the student council bulletins every month, and very nearly planned and executed all student council assemblies and events singlehandedly. The boy did _excellent _work and that was probably the extent of Arthur's knowledge of him.

By all rights, Matthew should have been the most important and well-known student council member. However, the boy had a rather unfortunate habit of fading off into the background. The fact that he was always standing next to Alfred Jones, resident vacuum for attention and hamburgers, during official functions certainly didn't help matters.

"I am really, really terribly sorry for forgetting about you," _Again,_ Arthur added mentally.

"It's no problem. I'm used to it," Matthew replied brightly.

Arthur flinched at the unintentional jab hidden in the statement. If it were any other person he would have immediately taken it as an insult, but knowing Matthew and his seemingly endless patience, he probably meant it.

"Oh, and if it's not too much to ask-" Arthur began hurriedly, not wanting to miss his chance in case Matthew disappeared again.

"Typical Englishman," he heard Francis sneer from somewhere inside the crowd of girls. "He only just remembered Matthew's existence and _already_ he's asking for favours."

"Yeah, probably didn't get the memo that imperialism is dead and he can't boss the world around anymore," Alfred added, always quick to agree to any jibes against Arthur. And honestly, when did the Student Council become an "I hate the Empire" club anyway?

Well, it was probably shortly after a German, American and Frenchman managed to make it onto council (though Ludwig was admittedly civil as long as Arthur was too). Even Arthur couldn't deny that the British had made many enemies during their years as an empire. He opened his mouth to make a pleasant retort about how the British whooped their country's respective asses (complete with the specific battles to prove it) when he was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Of course I wouldn't mind staying after school to help you with student council work, Arthur," Matthew replied to his unspoken question with a small smile.

Which Arthur answered in full with a bright smile of his own. Yes, an Englishman would have a long history of rivalry with the French, he'll share monarchs with the Germans, he'll try to (and fail) to contain the American spirit but he would always be able to find an ally in a Canadian. Unless we were talking about the Suez Canal because that was doomed to failure the second they allied with the French.

"My poor, dear, sweet cousin," Francis simpered, hanging off of Matthew. "Having to remain in that monster's company even past student council hours. You have the patience of a saint."

Matthew only laughed awkwardly and tried to dislodge Francis from his shoulders. "I don't mind, really-"

"This has been going on for months! He is bullying you, Matthew! He only ever asks _you_ to stay behind and help him!"

"Really, Francis, it's only because Al has football practice, Ludwig's running a physics club and you're-" Here Matthew struggled for a polite word to describe Francis' escapades, "-busy," He finished lamely when no such word presented itself.

"Matthew, you must speak up if he is abusing his power," Francis insisted sternly. "I will... Er, your _brother_ will beat him up for you if you would just say the word."

"Maybe if you did more work during hours we wouldn't have to stay behind all the bleeding time and do it for you," Arthur cut in snidely. He smirked when he saw Francis bristle at the comment and completely taking the bait.

"I will not stand here and be criticized by someone who hasn't learned to embrace the wonderful invention that is tweezers," Francis replied airily, smirking when he heard an outraged splutter. "Now, the fine girls of this academy simply won't entertain themselves so goodbye and adieu."

And like that, he was gone in a whirlwind of haughtiness and French couture. As soon as the oak double doors shut behind him, Arthur and Matthew exchanged an awkward smile before returning to their desks and starting on their work.

Honestly, the work pile was nothing Arthur couldn't handle on his own. In fact, he normally wouldn't even ask for help but, you see, he had a plan.

At first, his goal had simply been to get to know the other better. Contrary to popular belief, he was (somewhat) aware that he kept on forgetting one of his members. That just wouldn't do because then the others would start complaining that he was assigning them more work because he kept forgetting to give any to Matthew.

And so, whenever he remembered, or if he accidentally bumped into Matthew on the way out of the office, he would ask the younger student to stay behind and help with some work. He figured if he spent some time alone with Matthew, without Alfred and Francis distracting him, he'd be able to remember him more easily.

He was met with very limited success, as demonstrated by this afternoon's fiasco. But at least now he remembered he had five members to delegate work to which at least stopped Francis from complaining.

However, whenever Arthur _did_ remember Matthew and sought him out, he found his company to be very pleasant. As soon as the environment quieted down enough for his soft voice to be heard (read: contained a little less Alfred and Francis) he was, surprisingly, quite talkative.

While working through the papers in front of them, the two would keep a steady stream of conversation. It was usually just about anything that happened to come to mind, whether it was complaining about classes or sports.

(The day before had been a lively discussion on the fairness of quickscoping in Call of Duty).

Arthur, frankly, didn't understand how he could keep forgetting this pleasant boy. Under any other circumstances he would have thought they would be best friends. They shared many of the same tastes and could agree to disagree quite readily on the few opinions they didn't share. Maybe he instinctively sought conflict as with Alfred and Francis or maybe it was just a regrettable inherent trait of Matthew's. He honestly couldn't figure it out, so instead he focused on trying to remember Matthew.

"...And so I decided to give the coffee in Starbucks a shot since they - sadly, regrettably, cruelly - don't have any Timmies here and, oh my god, I may as well have walked down a shady alley and gotten robbed because at least thieves are upfront about what they're doing, but at Starbucks they'll give you a smile and act like they're doing you a favour by selling you over glorified, flavoured coffee," Matthew punctuated the end of his tirade by blowing a lone curl off his face. "I miss Timmies."

Arthur hummed his agreement as he idly flipped the page on one of Ludwig's inhumanely thorough financial reports (though he really only half-agreed since he didn't know who this 'Timmy' was and why Matthew missed him so much). "Their tea is utter shit too," He commented, still not breaking his staring contest with a graph that he was determined to understand. "I tried something they call a London Fog and it really _was _more fog than tea. It cost a ridiculous amount too."

At this, Matthew finally looked up from his meeting notes and raised an eyebrow at Arthur.

"It's not even about the money," Arthur amended quickly. Lord knew the students at UN Academy could stand to throw away a few dollars at Starbucks. "I would pay any amount for a good cup of tea, but that piss was definitely not worth what I paid for it."

Matthew smiled sympathetically at him before returning back to the notes he was highlighting for Alfred (that lazy bastard). Meanwhile, Arthur found himself staring at Matthew dazedly for a few beats longer before finally returning to the graph that he had no hope of understanding now.

Okay, so maybe the after school meetings had a purpose other than simply getting to know the other boy. Half of his time was spent wondering if it was possible to like someone you couldn't remember.

Well, there was no doubt that he _liked_ Matthew but exactly how much he wasn't sure. In a rare act of desperation he even consulted a film called The Notebook.

But seeing as how he wasn't suffering from Alzheimer's and he wasn't American, he could relate very little to the characters and was left more stumped and annoyed than before.

And so he had fallen back on a tried and true method; consulting books. But no, not just any books by any authors. No - this was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Arthur actually fancied himself to be a lot like Mr. Darcy. A completely fine gentleman underneath the three-piece suit and just slightly awkward about namby pamby things like affection.

Somewhere, Elizabeth Bennet was rolling around, laughing in her grave. Okay, _unbelievably_ awkward when it came to affection. More awkward than a baby giraffe on stilts, maybe.

In his defence, Arthur didn't mean to act like a bastard - it just sort of came out that way because of his little quirks in his attitude. For example, he usually kept a stiff expression when asking for favours so they usually come out sounding more like orders. It wasn't his fault, really. He was English, damn it. Stiff upper lip and all that.

Besides, acting as the student council president meant he had to keep a poker face nearly 90% of the time, and, well keeping a stern face for hours on end made it just a bit harder for him to relax his facial muscles back into a smile like Matthew.

He could only thank his lucky stars that Matthew was a lot more agreeable and patient than Elizabeth. So whenever Arthur was accidentally too curt with him he would smile, take it in stride, and maybe accidentally add too much milk into Arthur's tea during the next meeting. Maybe he did stand a chance after all.

Looking up from the report slightly, he chanced a glance at Matthew. The other boy had taken off the stifling school blazer and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. His wavy hair fell forward to hide his face as he leant close to the table to highlight some other important bit of information. When he straightened back up in his seat, he seemed to notice Arthur staring at him because he immediately turned his way before opening his mouth to say something.

However, Arthur looked away hastily as soon as their eyes met and, with an imperious cough, returned to his papers and signaled for Matthew to do the same.

Lord help him.

* * *

Oh man. Sorry for all the fail.

OH Just a couple of clarifications:

1) No, I don't have anything against Starbucks. I love the stuff but sometimes it feels like highway robbery (and I had a very bad experience with a London Fog)

2) My high school really did have an External Affairs position but people hardly ran for it and it wasn't an American high school so just roll with it.

3) Ulysse Nardin is a Swiss watch manufacturer and I pray you don't recognize the brand. (Cause I didn't but I'm hardly caught up on the watch world). I just needed someone whose initials matched the UN and they were the first google gave me

4) I happen to think Mr. Darcy was slicker than an icy road but that may just be me

5) ANDD lastly. The Call of Duty thing (which is also not mine) was just a random topic I picked. It was either that or classic rock because they both seem like rockers and gamers to me. IDK. Btw quickscoping is a totally cheap way to get kills because I cant do it and blahblahblah.

I'll probably try and write 3 chapters 1 extra… maybe. I… I don't know when I'll be able to update. I've put off enough homework to keep me busy for the rest of the semester probably. Gah. Anyway, this was originally written on my iPod at school so if you see some hilarious mistake ala auto correct please tell me immediately in a review because even though I re-edited this I might miss a damn autocorrect word. Alsoo please leave a review? :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Like Mr. Darcy, Only A Lot Less Smooth (And Let's Face It, Mr. Darcy Wasn't Smooth To Begin With)**

A/n: Lol so, funny story, I think I'm actually going to end up writing most of this on my iPod touch during my commute because I am totally doomed if I skip any more homework for this. (so sorry but this just might take awhile between updates) And of course, if you see a mistake courtesy of my friend, autocorrect please tell me ASAP. If it happens it'll probably be lolztastic and distracting so I'd prefer if only a few people saw it ahahhaa.

Also, can you tell I've never been on student council?

Thanks to everyone who faved, alerted and reviewed. Those things, I think, are the blood that keeps any writer going :) So thank you all for not letting me die from blood loss.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Hetalia, McDonalds, Pride and Prejudice, Proactiv or anything else you recognize

* * *

During at least three days of every month, the student council experienced a brief lull in activities where the office was silent in rare peacefulness. It was usually the period right after the latest assembly, meeting or fair (both the actual event and the paper work they usually had to file afterwards) and before they had to start planning and budgeting for the next one. It was occasionally interrupted by a student or team complaining about one thing or another but those were usually brief and relatively rare. This was mostly due to the fact that Ludwig handled complaints and students were often too scared to bring issues up in the first place and not inclined to push the issue if Ludwig happened to say "no".

On the bright side, the lack of work meant Arthur could actually enjoy his cushy chair, lean back in his seat and appreciate the spectacular view of the school grounds outside the large bay windows located conveniently behind his desk with a steaming cup of tea.

The downside, of course, was that everyone else on council could too. Particularly...

"But we had a date," He heard a voice whine behind him. Arthur had quickly swiveled in his chair to face the windows behind him as soon as the arguing started. He had hoped to ignore it but that particular voice was too loud to ignore.

"I know," A second voice began placatingly. "But-"

Even more surprising were the parties involved. He would have expected this kind of lover's spat between Francis and whatever girl he was currently dating. But it _wasn't_ Francis because Francis wasn't even at the office-

"This is all eyebrows' fault. Giving you so much work to do just because you can't say no-"

Arthur briefly considered that maybe it wasn't so much the arguing that was annoying him (though it certainly was irksome) but the people involved.

"-Al, I am perfectly able to say no. Let me demonstrate, _no_ I won't leave early-"

Today, when Arthur walked into the office, he was pleasantly surprised when he realized he could see Matthew with very little effort at all.

"Damn it, Arthur, take responsibility, will you? Stop ignoring me and pretending like you're not involved-"

Too bad it was largely because Alfred had been hanging off of Matthew as he sat in his seat and tried to finish next month's bulletin before the evening deadline.

"-Al-"

"Do you know how long it took me to find a McDonalds in Switzerland? It took a second on Google - 0.25 secs, to be exact - but the build up to that search took a week! I kept getting too lazy to go on Google, then I forgot for a bit, but then I finally hauled ass and did it last night!"

"That's kind of your fault-" Matthew said, rolling his eyes.

"You home wrecker!"

Finally, Arthur spun around in his chair to face Alfred. He was ready to ream that git out for disrupting his tea time. He intended to tell Alfred that obviously Matthew wasn't interested in dining at a greasy fast food restaurant, much less with _him_, and Arthur really couldn't blame him. He meant to apologize for Alfred's lack of class, but insist it was hardly his fault that Matthew would rather do work and spend time with a gentleman like himself.

See, that's what he _meant _to say, but then he caught sight of Alfred pouting at him from where his chin was resting on Matthew's shoulder with his arms draped off of the boy's frame. Matthew didn't even seem uncomfortable with Alfred's close proximity and that more than anything else managed to piss Arthur right the hell off and-

"Matthew, will you just leave already? Your incessant arguing is making it impossible for anyone else to get any work done around here," Was what came out instead.

There was a long moment of silence where even Ludwig paused in his typing to stare openly at Arthur before waiting wearily for Matthew's reaction.

Arthur was still half-hoping that he could still salvage the situation by somehow taking the words back and stuffing them down his oesophagus where they truly belonged. However, before he could even attempt to do so, Matthew had already shrugged Alfred off his shoulder and was repacking his satchel at breakneck speed. Arthur flinched a little at the sound of a laptop being slammed into the bag as well as the soft mutterings coming from Matthew's direction that was surely the beginnings of an angry rant.

"Matthew, I-" Arthur began, still not sure of the words he could use to make things better.

But before he could even begin trying to put his apology to end all apologies to words, Matthew had already taken Alfred by the hand and dragged him out the door (though the idiot still managed to glare at Arthur and mouth 'I'm watching you' at him before the door slammed shut behind them).

Arthur sighed wearily before finally burying his head in his arms. Soon, the sound of Ludwig's typing resumed but not before a brief pause indicated that he had stopped and considered saying a few words of consolation before deciding that he had none.

Oh god, he had really made a mess of things this time. At the time, he hadn't been sure of what to say but something in the way that his mind scrambled for words, the way his mouth opened and closed frantically, and the way his heart sank with each passing second of silence told him that he ought to have said something. Somehow, he knew that letting Matthew leave without a word may have mucked things up irreparably.

Of course words would fail him when it mattered most. Any other day he would be able to write perfectly eloquent prose, an elegant poem, the most convincing speech, but put him on the spot and suddenly he was like a goldfish on dry land with his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he pathetically tried to gulp down great lungfuls of air.

"You know," Ludwig began awkwardly before pausing for the right words.

Arthur looked up, hoping desperately for a little bit of advice from his most trusted member. Arthur could feel it in his bones that this was going to be the advice that would shine a light on whatever it was he kept on missing. Ludwig hardly ever spoke but when he did speak, his words were practically worth their weight in gold. After all, he was the one to point out any mistakes the other four missed, or provided the sentence that made their posters that much more catchy. He was the _ace_ of the student council! If anyone could fix this surely-

"You know," Ludwig tried again after clearing his throat. The frantic stare Arthur had fixed him with was a bit unnerving. "That book-" he nodded towards the copy of Pride and Prejudice Arthur had taken to keeping on top of his desk. "-It was only as long as it was because Darcy was too stubborn to apologize."

Arthur immediately scowled before spinning his chair to face the windows again. "Why, no, Ludwig, I _didn't _notice. I'm afraid I've only read it 39 times. Maybe if I read it an even 40 times like you, Ludwig, I would have noticed that vital piece of information! But thank you kindly for pointing it out to me, you useless good-for-nothing. Ace up my sleeve my arse."

* * *

Arthur was dreading the next day. The next day signalled the end of the student council's mini vacation. Tomorrow they would start official business with a discussion regarding upcoming events between the five members.

Arthur had spent all night worrying over it. He had spent his classes completely preoccupied with it. The meeting would be held in the student council's private board room. Sadly, he had to sit at the head of the table and up there, there was no escaping Matthew's icy stare or Alfred's accusing glare.

The board room was attached to the student council room. It was where student council held any meetings between them and other teams, representatives and sometimes instructors. In the very middle of the room was a large, oval mahogany table. It could easily seat up to 20 people and during monthly meetings they would bring in extra chairs for the other representatives. For right now, though, there were only five closely clustered chairs at the table.

After much deliberation and reading into things, Arthur decided that what Ludwig was trying to tell him (in an incredibly roundabout way, mind) was that he should not pull a Darcy, man up, and apologize.

So that was exactly what he planned to do. He had even written out the exact words he would use and committed them to memory. It was clear that he would need a planned out speech since he was no good at improvisation (especially when faced with Matthew) so he had set aside time last night to pen his apology. It was a very good apology, if he said so himself, and he was certain that it would be able to move even the most heartless of men.

And since Matthew was hardly heartless he figured he had a very good chance of being forgiven.

Yes, as soon as Matthew walked through the board room doors (where he was currently waiting) he would stand up (because his pride didn't allow him to grovel for forgiveness), look him in the eye and begin his sincere apologies.

Then everything in the world would be right again. The awkwardness would stop and, as Ludwig pointed out, the world would miss out on a few extra chapters of his rendition of Pride and Prejudice.

But it would be alright because Matthew wouldn't hate him and that was really all that mattered.

* * *

He didn't apologize.

He really meant to. Hell, he wanted to. But things hadn't gone exactly as planned.

First of all, Matthew hadn't come to the meeting alone as expected, he came in with Alfred. Now this was not enough to deter Arthur in itself but then Alfred had gone on and on about how much fun he had yesterday in his obnoxiously loud voice and Arthur just hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise.

"Yesterday was really great, guys. Just stepping inside the store was like stepping into a little piece of America. And biting into that Big Mac? It brought heroic tears to my eyes."

"It really did," Matthew supplied when Francis raised an eyebrow. "Except it was more like heroic sobbing. The staff were worried he was having a nervous breakdown."

Arthur didn't miss the way Matthew was speaking to everyone in the room but him. It felt like he was being purposely excluded from the conversation. Hell, Matthew's entire body was turned away from where Arthur was seated at the head of the table. But this wouldn't stop him. He had a plan. He would follow through.

"Er, Ma-"

"-Even heroes get homesick, OK? Anyway, Matt and I stayed until closing and when people began to clear out, we decided to go play in the Play Place-"

"-Will you lower your voice for a sec-" Arthur snapped.

"Oh, come on! We still have time before the meeting starts," Alfred scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway that height requirement is totally bogus 'cause I still had loads of fun even though I'm a good couple of inches above it-"

"A couple," Ludwig deadpanned

"-OK a lot! But I still managed to climb all the way to the top of that sucker with no problems at all. But then there was only one way down and that was the slide, y'know the tube-y kind where it's all dark inside and it smells like plastic and vomit? Well, actually, there was a pole but I wasn't going down _that_ thing. I was scared of it as a kid and I'm scared of it now - No, wait, not _scared_ 'cause being scared of a pole is totally lame. It's just... It's the kind of thing a stripper does and I'm no stripper. Yeah, that's it."

It was around this point that Arthur gave up attempting to cut into Alfred's monologue. He'd just have to ask Matthew to stay behind after the meeting and hope he agreed.

"A lot of kids were scared of the pole, Al-"

"Not scared! Anyway so I eyeballed the opening and I figured I could fit - and if you even so much as _think_ of making a that's what she said joke, Francis, I will set your closet on fire - but I guess it got narrower near the end or something because I got stuck. The firemen had to come in and cut me out, but the restaurant's not suing for damages 'cause they know I'm a bro."

Stunned silence greeted the abrupt end of the story and even Arthur was too dumbstruck to take advantage of the quiet and go through with his plan. The only person who seemed unaffected was Matthew who was probably used to such ridiculous, but sadly true, tales.

"So," Ludwig began when he finally managed to compose himself. "Let's discuss our next event."

Arthur cleared his throat, taking it as his cue to restore some sense of normalcy back into the meetings. "Yes, as you all know, the big annual ball is coming up. The committee has decided on a Venetian Carnivale theme but of course it falls on us to plan out most of it."

"We'll need traditional Venetian masks," Ludwig said, flipping through a few papers in his folder before pulling one out and showing it to the other four members. "This will be what it'll look like, with several variations so everyone's not running around with the same mask. The five of us will get custom masks just so we're easy to identify in case something goes wrong."

"Excellent," Francis said, excitedly taking the paper from Ludwig. One of the masks was an eye-mask held in place by the wearer using the baton attached to it. It was white with intricate, swirling patterns of silver paint, glitter and crystals. The student council's mask, however, would completely cover their faces and was held in place by a ribbon. The mask in the photo was mostly white with black and gold accents. The mask's left eye was decorated with long black and gold eye lashes while the right had a spiralling monocle of black paint and gold glitter that stretched over more than half of the mask. The finishing touches were the perfectly shaped, unsmiling lips painted black to match the rest of the mask and a black tricorn hat to top it off.

"Eugh. A full faced mask? It'll make kissing _so_ hard."

"We're the only ones allowed to wear full masks," Ludwig explained. "It could become a security problem if we were unable to see anyone's faces, but since everyone already knows what we look like we've been authorized to use the traditional full-masks. Besides, it'll make us easy to spot and if it stops you from molesting anyone that night then that's just a lovely bonus."

Francis merely scowled in response before passing the paper on to Matthew who was sitting beside him.

"Anyway, Feliciano mentioned he has a relative in Venice whose family has been making these masks probably since Carnivale first started. He said he'd have his relative make the masks as a favour to student council," Ludwig announced to cheers and applause from everyone at the table. Even though the ball had a huge budget allocated to it, free stuff was free stuff. "Anyway he said we could choose the colors for our masks. The only thing he asks is that you don't choose gold since all five will have gold accents regardless-"

"Red," Matthew said immediately.

"Blue," Alfred added as he passed the paper to Arthur.

"Can I have red _and_ blue?" Francis eyed Ludwig hopefully, pouting when the latter shook his head. "Damn it, you two stole the colors of the republic. Fine, I'll have purple, but I want it to be a deep purple, OK? The purple of royalty and the fine silks of noble-"

"Eh, I guess I'll just go with black like in the photo," Arthur said slowly after examining the picture. He ignored Francis' offended sputter at the interruption and scratched his chin idly as he gave the paper another glance. "Yeah, black looks good."

"Alright, I suppose I'll go with green. Now remember your colors, everyone. We won't be able to take off our masks during the event so the different colours are the only way we'll be able to identify each other-"

"Hey, it'll be like power rangers! And I'm Blue. Pink totally had the hots for Blue, y'know."

"Pink was with Green, Al."

"We still have to discuss decorations-" Arthur began, flipping through the papers he collected from the committee

"Wait... Everyone's a ranger except for you, Francis!" Alfred cackled as he pointed at the scowling senior. "There's no purple ranger!"

"There have been suggestions of Carnivale entertainers like clowns and fire breathers," Arthur continued, doing his best to ignore Alfred's laughter and Francis' mutterings. He would not jump over the table and kill them both. Not again. "We'll also need music... Maybe a bard. Ludwig, can you ask Feliciano-"

He was interrupted by Francis throwing a balled up paper at Alfred who retaliated with a paper ball of his own. Soon the meeting room had descended into a battleground where paper was ammunition and folders were the only flimsy protection against paper cuts and the possibility of damaged eyeballs.

Arthur couldn't even find it in himself to feel surprised anymore. This time he didn't bother pretending to try and get the meeting back in order and simply grabbed his things and quietly stalked out of the meeting room.

* * *

A few hours later and Arthur finally had the luxury of collapsing in his bed. He stared at his ceiling through the dark, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the complete silence night brought with it. Then, as usual, Arthur went through his mental to-do list from the day before and then composed his to-do list for the day after. Planners? Those were for pansies with bad memory.

And right at the very top of the mental list - in red, underlined, highlighted, circled and starred - was to apologize to-

_Shit_. Shit shit shit.

Well fuck. Maybe he'd have to invest in a planner after all.

* * *

It was fine; it was going to be OK. Arthur would just apologize to Matthew tomorrow. He half-wondered exactly how long he had left before his apology simply expired. Of course, everyone knew that there was a sort of unspoken time-frame after an event in which you're supposed to apologize before you're considered too late, but he wasn't sure exactly how long it was (surely he had at least a week).

The thought plagued him and sent him tossing and turning in his sheets. What if a person was supposed to apologize immediately on sight of the offended party? Then wouldn't an apology tomorrow be too late?

Unacceptable. Matthew had to accept his apology. Arthur would not be able to go on with a giant wall of ice separating him from Matthew. Not... Not because it hurt his _feelings _or anything but because it made things awkward at work and he couldn't have things affecting his work, now could he?

Arthur chanced another glance at the clock. It wasn't _terribly_ late, only midnight, but there was still a pretty good chance that Matthew was already asleep. He bit his lip, torn between wanting to get it over with and not wanting to make things worse by interrupting Matthew's sleep. All the while, he was painfully aware that it was only getting later with every minute he spent in bed stewing in indecision.

Oh fuck it. He was not going to let this affect the little sleep he managed to get in between school and student council. If it was going to bother him until morning then he might as well apologize now.

With that, Arthur tore the duvet and sheets off his body, stuffed his feet into his slippers and shuffled out his dorm room door.

Thankfully, the student council all slept in the same wing of the dormitories so Matthew's dorm was only a few steps away. He didn't know where Matthew's room was, per say, but he knew where Francis and Ludwig's rooms were so that only left two doors.

(Come to think of it, why didn't he know where Alfred's room was?)

And so, Arthur was left standing in the hallway between two doors across from each other. He decided on trying the room on his right first while praying to any deity that was listening that it was, indeed, Matthew's because he really didn't want to meet a half-asleep Alfred.

Raising his hand, he knocked on the door three times before stepping back and waiting anxiously.

Silence.

Maybe Matthew really was asleep. But damn it, he was already out of bed and he didn't want to go back to his room until he accomplished his mission. And so Arthur tried knocking on the door again, louder this time.

Still nothing - though he was sure he heard the rustling of sheets from inside the room that time. One more time, then, and if Matthew still didn't get up he'd wait until morning.

However, as Arthur raised his hand to knock once more the door was wrenched open by an irritated blond.

"Artie, what the hell?" Alfred grumbled, one hand on the doorknob, the other ruffling his already tousled hair. Arthur noticed that the other hadn't even bothered putting his glasses on in his rush to get to the door. "The school better be burning down or I will kick your limey ass all the way back to jolly old En-"

"Ah, terribly sorry, Alfred," Arthur said quickly, hoping to escape the angry rant that was coming and not wanting to waste time trading insults. "I was hoping this was Matthew's room but I guess it's the one across, eh?"

"Dude, are you stupid?" Alfred squinted at him blearily in the dim light of the hallway. "This _is_ Mattie's room. We share."

It took a second for the revelation to truly sink into Arthur. He stared in horror at Alfred who was now stifling a yawn behind his hand. It felt like the rug had been pulled from his feet, like he was falling head first into the dark abyss. There were no words only-

What.

* * *

_And just in case you get any ideas that dear, old Artie is done screwing things up for himself, here's a preview of he next chapter:_

"All right already - I get it," Arthur snapped, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I know I can be dense Matthew, but I'm not _that_ dense."

"Arthur, what-"

"You don't have to keep rubbing my nose in it! I get it - He's the Darcy to your Elizabeth, the Romeo to your Juliet or, hell, he's American so it's probably the Brad Pitt to your Angelina!"_ Except he's not because it should be me and if you'd just open your eyes and if I just stopped being so goddamn awkward then maybe-_ "Actually, Alfred is probably more like the Hamlet to your Ophelia. He'll definitely drive you up the wall if you give it time."

"I think there's been some sort of mistake-"

"No, no it's all clear to me now, Matthew, crystal clear - as clear as Bonnefoy's face after Proactiv," Arthur continued, not wanting to give the other boy time to interrupt him. He was sure he resembled a ranting and raving lunatic at this point, but he needed to get some things of his chest and this was as good a time as any. "Just... Just next time you might want to warn a fellow in advance, you know? Warn him well in advance... Before they get in too deep and it's impossible to get out because you're like bloody quicksand!"

He sort of wished he could see Matthew's reaction to his words underneath his mask, but seeing the sympathetic look on his face would surely cause him to lose his nerve so it was probably better this way.

"And how do you propose I get out now, hm? When I'm already up to my shoulders in you and it's only _now_ that you tell me that he's the only one for you and _he's_ the only one who'll ever be blessed with the violet of your gaze and-" It was around here that Arthur ran out of breath and words and so he just gestured helplessly at Matthew and ran a hand through his choppy hair in frustration.

"Are you done?"

Arthur looked up at the stars sparkling down at him from the inky black sky. He listened to the far off sounds of students enjoying the ball. He drew in a deep breath pushed his sweaty fringe back with the hand that wasn't holding onto his mask. "Yes, quite, I think."

* * *

Hmmm maybe I'll do a preview for all chapters following now. OH, before I forget, preview scenes are subject to change... maybe (it might get pushed back a chapter or have a few words replaced and etc). One of my favorite authors does it (selandora. Read her stories if you like Reborn!). Plus it kinda traps me into a set direction for the next chapter.

**Clarifications**:

-Anything I know about Carnivale is learned through Assassin's Creed 2. Sorry for any historical inaccuracies. I wanted to work Romano into the whole student council planning but he kept on resisting :( Maybe next chapter

-I really did google McDonalds in Switzerland and it really did take .25 seconds

-The stupid ball wasn't even originally part of the story. I just needed something for council to have a meeting about and now it's part of the plot. URGH. Words, why do I have no control over you!

-Anything not clarified here or in the chapter will be explained in the next chapter (yes, I'm talking about Alfred). Anddd that also includes the Hamlet comparison. I really, really need to stop working other books/plays into my fics /facepalm.

I actually meant to get this out sooner but school pretty much kicked me in the face. I'll be aiming for weekly updates unless I say otherwise. If I miss a week assume the worst. But anyway, leave a review?


	3. Chapter 3

**Like Mr. Darcy Only A Lot Less Smooth (And, Let's Face It, Mr. Darcy Wasn't Smooth To Begin With)**

Wow. It's kind of worrying how long I let this story sit but I swear I won't abandon stories anymore haha. This is my third rewrite… Well, actually, my third and a dozen halves. This is now a Frankenstein monster with limbs and pieces from all my previous rewrites. This just… refused to come out right. Maybe because I trapped myself with the preview or because I added the ball which I didn't plan for. Argh.

But don't worry! After the 27th I'm on my summer break - well I'm taking a one month spring course but still - and no one wanted to hire an inexperienced university student so I guess I'll be writing for four months hahaha or maybe doing volunteer work.

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu. And uh… anything else you recognize belong to their rightful owners (ie: not me) /catchall disclaimer.

* * *

Arthur could only stare at Alfred, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as his brain tried to come up with words in response to Alfred's statement. It felt like his mental dictionary had been knocked out that single sentence. All he had left to work with was a handful of curse words that barely strung together to form a coherent sentence (and a very obscene one at that).

They were sharing a room? Impossible. Arthur knew the entire student handbook inside out and _this_ was breaking the Academy's cardinal rule. Students could get around most of the rules by donating a library here and there but the one rule that was impervious to all kinds of bribery and blackmail was the rule regarding dorm rooms. No one - under any circumstances - was allowed to stay over in another student's room without express permission from the school. Unauthorized overnight sleepovers were enough to warrant immediate suspension for both students. The Academy had a reputation to uphold, after all, and if students just wanted to muck around and party then they had a sister school – in France, funnily enough – for just that purpose.

To make things worse, the Academy had very strict roommate restrictions and any students who wanted to room together had to get approval from the board first and from what Arthur had heard, you had to be just short of being conjoined twins to get approval. Even the Braginski siblings hadn't been allowed to dorm together - much to the relief of Ivan, but still.

And the Braginskis were contractors by day and a powerful Russian mafia family at night so if anyone had a shot at bending the rules it would have been them.

The idea of Alfred just casually hanging out in Matthew's room – _especially_ since they were both on Council and probably knew the rules just as well as he did – was preposterous and-

Hang on a sec – did this mean they shared a bed too?

As soon as the thought entered his head, followed quickly by a mental image (of Matthew and Alfred in the same bed, arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled), his brain promptly short-circuited and any hopes of an apology or even a coherent sentence flew out the window.

"Wuh," replied Arthur intelligently.

Alfred shot him a worried look before comprehension seemed to dawn on his face. "Arthur, if you've had a nightmare or if your fairy friends suddenly went rabid then I feel for you, really I do," Alfred said in a kind tone, placing a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder. "But it's going to be a cold day in hell before I let you into Matt's room just because of that."

"I-"

"Maybe you should try Francis," Alfred suggested with a smirk. Then he clapped Arthur jovially on the back before slamming the door in his face.

"Y-you asshole," Arthur sputtered, his mind finally recovering from shock.

Sadly, the same couldn't be said for his body. His limbs were refusing to listening to his attempts to go back to his room and his mind was simply too tired to even try to do anything about it. Since he had nothing to do while he stood around and waited for his body to get it together, he decided to take mental stock of the situation.

One, he was probably in love with Matthew. He used the term probably because surely you weren't supposed to forget about the ones you loved. (Unless this was a secret defence mechanism of his mind to make sure he died alone. It was a promising theory and he was still working on proving it). But short-term memory aside there was... _something_ there. A nervous flutter in his stomach, the slightly unsteady beat of his heart and that little voice in the back of his head, constantly whispering underneath the yelling of his other thoughts, trying to remind him of something forgotten but important; they all seemed to point to one thing (well, two, but the other was likely to be a terminal illness so he was sincerely hoping things weren't pointing in that direction).

Two, Matthew was going out with Alfred. How could he have missed that? The two of them went out for a McDonalds date once every two weeks (he only knew that because Alfred would tell anyone within hearing range how excited he was about it). Well, actually, he probably missed that because most of the time he had no idea who this 'Mattie' Alfred was rambling about was and he usually didn't care enough to ask.

And, three – just to make his situation as abysmal as possible – the two were sharing a room. Hell, they were probably sharing a bed. And really, wasn't that just the cherry on top of the bloody sundae?

He let his head forward and hit the door with a dull thunk. It suddenly felt entirely too heavy for his shoulders to hold up. How was he even supposed to compete? They were already going out and they were already living together. It felt like it was over and he had only two options:

One was to wait for Alfred to muck up their relationship and get his ass dumped. However, Arthur severely doubted that would happen any time soon. Mostly because this seemed like the thing Alfred was least likely to mess up on (of all the things, really) and partly because Matthew would probably just forgive him since he had the patience of a saint and seemed immune to Alfred's stupidity (unfortunately).

And the second was to give up; to throw in the towel and know when he'd been beaten by a worthy opponent. Eventually, the feeling would fade, right? He already forgot Matthew most of the time anyway so this should be an easy task provided his memory loss co-operated with him.

He felt a twinge deep in his gut at the thought of forcing himself to forget Matthew and he groaned in frustration.

"What the hell do you want me to do, then?" Arthur grumbled, glaring down in the general direction of his chest. "Up here-" he paused to tap his head "-refuses to remember him but you refuse to forget and all of this-" he gestured to the rest of his body "-is going to end up in the mental hospital if you two keep this up."

Arthur gave a start and fell backwards when he felt the door creak open to reveal a sleepy Matthew.

"Arthur?" Matthew mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. Arthur noticed that he hadn't bothered to put glasses on either and, wow, were his eyes always such a vibrant shade of violet? They reminded him of the deep purple cape his parents kept locked away in a glass cabinet. As a child he had been told that it was a gift from royalty given to their family hundreds of years ago and that it was a very precious heirloom. Quite frankly, he hadn't cared about the cape's history and all he wanted to do was get rid of that damned glass so he could see it up close and touch it because it was such an enticing color and-

"Uh… Arthur?" Matthew tried again, shooting the dazed looking boy a concerned look.

"Er, yes, hi," Arthur replied hurriedly. He scratched at the back of his neck and cleared his throat in a bid to regain his composure.

"Hi," Matthew replied awkwardly, shifting his weight idly from foot to foot. "Why were you here again?"

"Uh," Arthur paused, wondering the same thing. Maybe he really was going senile or maybe Matthew was just a vacuum for his memories. It seemed like he always forgot something when the boy was in his vicinity.

"Alfred said you had a nightmare," Matthew continued, his face reddening. "Uh… It'll be a tight squeeze but if you're really scared I guess you could-" He broke off suddenly, looking incredibly embarrassed.

"Y-you'll let me?" Arthur repeated. Hell, it didn't matter what he came here for originally – he was being invited into Matthew's room and possibly his bed! Surely this was God finally smiling down on his poor, awkward, English soul. The golden opportunity he had been waiting for to execute his master plan. Granted, he didn't have a clue as to what his master plan might be but he was still terribly excited.

"Maatt," A voice whined from inside the room. "Don't let that limey jerk into our room! Next thing you know he'll be taking over and taxing us every time we use the bathroom."

Oh, right, Alfred would be in there as well. Suddenly, the offer seemed a lot less appealing. Arthur tried to picture it – the three of them squeezed into one double bed; Matthew in his arms and him in Alfred's and, oh God.

"I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

"Er… Is that a no?" Matthew asked, looking concerned.

"Yes, thank you for the kind offer, Matthew," Arthur gave him a strained smile. "But I think I'll be fine… after I bleach my brain," he added under his breath.

"Alright," Matthew smiled in return, making to close the door. "Good night."

"Night," Arthur replied, smile still in his place. He waited for the door to close before he began to stumble back at his room, arms stretched out on either side of him to make sure he didn't bump into a wall. His vision was dark around the edges and a part of him marvelled at the fact that mental images could cause blindness while the other part was scared stiff over the possibility that Alfred had robbed him of his vision permanently.

* * *

The next morning, after a night of fitful sleep thanks to Alfred, Arthur was pleasantly surprised to find his bed was doubly warm and comfortable. He snuggled in deeper into the cocoon of warm sheets and fluffy comforter, wanting to bask in the warmth for just a minute more.

It was when he tried to grab more sheets for himself that he noticed there was a warm body lying next to him.

What.

Arthur's heartbeat quickened. Maybe in his daze he really had taken Alfred's suggestion and roomed with Francis. Shit, he was going to get found out for sure. He could just imagine a student waiting to pounce on him outside the doors, camera at the ready and- Oh, he was going to get suspended and probably disinherited and-

And good God, he was in _Francis'_ room – the den of all things sinful and French. His eyes widened as the horrible revelation slowly sank in and he quickly patted himself down to ensure he was still in one piece and that his virtue was still intact.

Relatively certain that he hadn't done anything shameful last night, Arthur carefully peeled the comforter back inch by inch to reveal his bed mate.

Something in him withered and died a painful death when he saw a head of blond curls. The only thing that stopped him from screaming bloody murder was the thought of what Francis might do once he woke up.

"Ngh, stop it," Francis grumbled, reaching for the covers to shield his eyes from the onslaught of sunlight.

Wait, sunlight? Arthur turned to look behind him to see that there was, indeed, a window there. Meanwhile, Francis had finally made a successful grab for the covers and buried his face in them. The lighting in the room was all wrong. The window was positioned to the left of the bed and if Arthur remembered correctly, Francis' room didn't have a window in that spot (something about Feng Shui) and Arthur's room had a window at the foot of his bed so where the hell was he?

He looked wildly around the room for clues. Even the decorations were all wrong. His room had band posters plastered all around it (and he knew Francis only used paintings for his room) while this room had various sports teams covering nearly every inch of the wall. He looked down and even the sheets were wrong. His bed was covered with a heavy quilt (made by his mother) not a red, blue and white comforter. And… And his bed was a wrought iron, four poster bed, but the one he was in was made of solid oak and-

Arthur turned back to the bed and quickly shook Francis awake, intent on asking him where the hell they were. Francis grumbled and groaned in response, eventually trying to punch Arthur before he finally opened his eyes and glared daggers into him.

"What do you want?" He grumbled, voice muffled by the sheets he was still stubbornly holding up to the lower half of his face.

Arthur paused to look him over. Since when were his eyes purple?

An image of a purple cape, carefully folded inside a glass cabinet teasingly out of his grasp came to mind and it hit him-

"Matthew?" Arthur croaked weakly, his body suddenly very, very tired from the rollercoaster of emotions he was forced to ride that morning. First terror, then confusion and now shock laced with something else (joy, maybe).

"Waking me up so early when you know I was up late watching the game last night," Matthew muttered angrily, hands fisting in the sheets as he spoke. "You're such a hoser sometimes."

"What're you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, pausing in his angry mutterings to look confused. "This is our room."

Arthur could only stare back uncomprehendingly. 'Our' room? As in the plural pronoun? Plural as in including him because this was also his room that he apparently shared with Matthew?

His poor, strained mind that had been through everything in the last 24 hours from scarring mental images, memory loss and incredible confusion could only offer one half-hearted explanation.

Maybe as Arthur was trying to stumble back to his room (after the shocking blow just dealt to him) Matthew had finally realized that Alfred was nothing but a parasite and promptly kicked him out of the room. It was probably around then that Matthew spotted Arthur - still recovering from the temporary blindness caused by that scarring mental image - and had taken pity on him and invited him back to his room and, apparently, his bed. The only problem with this theory as that Arthur couldn't remember any of those things happening last night but he quickly explained those worries away with the fact that he tended to forget things relating to Matthew.

(Or maybe the fae had felt sorry for the fairy-loving, pure hearted but socially awkward boy and decided to help him out a bit. It could happen.)

"You OK?" Matthew asked, having finished his angry tirade while Arthur was thinking. Then, without warning, Arthur felt a cold palm settle against his forehead. "You're not feverish so what's with the weird look?" Matthew mused to himself, letting his palm slide down so that he was cradling Arthur's blushing cheek instead.

Well.

If this was what Arthur would wake up to every morning then, frankly, he didn't care how he got here – he never wanted to leave.

"You're acting really strange, Al," Matthew huffed when it was clear Arthur wasn't going to be saying anything anytime soon. Arthur was about to smile and crack a joke when the last word registered in his head. Al? _Al?_

"A… Alfred?" Arthur squawked indignantly, flinching when he heard the word come out in an obtrusive, American accent rather than- No, there was no bleeding way.

Arthur sat upright in the bed, frantically patting himself down for clues. As if on cue, the edges of his vision began to blur as if his eyes had suddenly become near-sighted but that was impossible. He'd always had perfect vision despite the late nights he spent under covers with nothing but a flashlight and a well-worn novel. He had never needed corrective lenses in his life – unless…

Trembling hands slowly made their way to the top of his head. His stomach plummeted when he came across one strand of hair that stood up no matter how many times Arthur smoothed his hand over it. It had to be that stupid cowlick. That damning lock of hair that stood to attention at the top of Alfred's head like some sort of tiny soldier.

There was no doubt about it. Even at its worst, his hair never stood up quite like that. If this was the fae's idea of a joke, then he certainly wasn't laughing. Feeling dread slowly building up in his gut, Arthur turned to the side where a mirror was conveniently hanging on the wall. He inched closer (his new found eye problems making it difficult to see from the bed) until his face came into view. Alfred's horrified blue eyes stared back at him.

He screamed.

He was still screaming when he suddenly fell off his bed in a tangle of sheets and limbs. It was only when his ass hit the floor that he opened his eyes to be greeted with The Darkness.

Or at least the poster of the band that he had on his bedroom wall.

Still breathing heavily, Arthur sat up, untangling himself from the quilt and sheets that had managed to wrap themselves around his limbs. He blinked slowly, taking in the fact that he was undeniably back in his room. After a quick search, he found that he was also back in his body.

_'Thank god'_

Arthur had just managed to stand up and make his way over to his dresser mirror when the pounding started.

He jumped and stared at his door in shock as it visibly shook on its hinges as whoever was outside beat at it mercilessly.

"What the-"

"Arthur," a soft voice called out, nearly drowned out by the thud of fist on door. "Are you alright? I heard you screaming-"

"Are you dead?" Another distinctly French voice called out gleefully. To Arthur's dismay, the question was quickly followed by another set of fists joining in the physical abuse of his door. "Maybe he's dead, Matthew. Let's break out the wine and celebrate."

"Francis that's not-"

Arthur pressed himself further against his dresser in fright as another set of fists – that were undeniably more ruthless than the other two - suddenly joined in the beat down of his door. His door shook all the more violently, and Arthur could see bits of plaster coming off his wall as each hit tested the limits of his door's hinges. The poor thing looked like it was about to fall any second and he certainly didn't want to be within range when that happened.

"Artie! Is it true you're dead?" he heard Alfred yelling through the other side of the door. "Hey, before you die, can you name me your successor as President?"

"What? Obviously the Vice-President will be his successor!""

There was a brief pause in the incessant knocking as two of the voices began to argue while the third played peacekeeper. Figuring the danger of the door falling on top of him was temporarily averted; Arthur carefully approached the door and yanked it open, glaring at the three boys on his doorstep.

"I'm not dead, you idiots," Arthur snapped, examining the damage on his door offhandedly. Damn it, the wood had splintered from their combined efforts. "And you'll be paying for the door."

Alfred and Francis both groaned, though Arthur couldn't tell if it was because of the news that he was still alive or because they had to pay for the door. He watched them shuffle away dejectedly before turning his attention to the third boy who was still fidgeting nervously at his doorstep.

"Sorry," Matthew said sheepishly, looking down at the floor. "I heard you scream and I panicked. I ran to your room and I guess Francis heard me knocking on your door from his dorm and came to look and then Alfred saw a crowd so of course, he had to stick his nose in-"

"It's OK," Arthur said, waving off the apology with a wry smile. "It was just a nightmare. I'll be fine."

Matthew looked like he wanted to argue for a second before something seemed to register in his head and he eyed Arthur suspiciously. "Hey, Arthur, what's my name?"

What an odd thing to ask in the morning. Arthur frowned at the other boy half-wondering if somehow he had forgotten his own name.

"It's Matthew," Arthur replied, pronouncing the word slowly just in case Matthew really did forget. When Matthew looked shocked he began to panic. What if his short-term, Matthew-related memory loss was contagious? Maybe it was something like selective memory loss except airborne. Soon, Matthew would be wandering around the school without a clue as to who he was and it would be entirely Arthur's fault. Shit, that couldn't happen. It was hard enough to remind himself of Matthew's name; he couldn't even imagine having to remind someone else-

"Hey, you remembered today," Matthew said with a warm smile.

Arthur blinked in surprise, his train of thought coming to a screeching halt. There was a beat of silence before he understood what Matthew was talking about.

"So I did," Arthur said, a smile slowly spreading across his own face as the realization sunk in. It was no big deal, really, to remember someone he saw every day - he knew that. Still, he couldn't stop the slow unfurl of happiness in his gut or the goofy smile that he was sure was plastered onto his face. He would take his victories where he could – no matter how small. Now that he could remember Matthew maybe he actually stood a chance against Alfred.

"Um..." Arthur was snapped out of his fantasies at the sound of someone clearing their throat. His eyes snapped back to Matthew who was shuffling his feet nervously, an embarrassed blush spreading across his face.

'Good job spacing out there, mate,' he thought to himself dryly. 'I bet he thinks you forgot him again just seconds after remembering his name.'

Christ, he hadn't been staring had he? He must have looked like an idiot, staring off into space and daydreaming. In his defence, though, it was really bloody early and his mind wasn't all there just yet.

He was just about to tell Matthew as much when the other boy's gaze snapped up to meet his. He was rather taken aback by the look of determination there (what was that for?) but he didn't have time to dwell on it as Matthew had started saying something at a speed rappers would be jealous of.

"Well, it's good to know you're alright. I'm going to go now - I'll see you at the office," Matthew breathed. His face had gotten redder with each word until he kind of resembled an angry Lovino (except he didn't look close to exploding, at least). Then, nodding to himself in apparent satisfaction, the younger student turned and walked away.

Intrigued by Matthew's odd behaviour, Arthur leaned against his doorframe and watched him leave. At first, Matthew was taking slow and steady steps, though his movements were stiff as if he was regulating his speed. Then, to Arthur's surprise, the boy suddenly began to sprint away as soon as he was a few feet away from Arthur's door.

He watched the other boy flee (because there really wasn't any other word for it) with wide eyes. As soon as Matthew was out of sight he had to forcibly restrain himself from banging his head on the door frame.

One step forward, two steps back.

* * *

Arthur was staring down at the words of Ludwig's budget report as if it held the words of salvation. He was staring so hard the double-spaced lines of 12pt Times New Roman began to blur and give him a headache. None of the words were registering despite his apparent concentration and his knuckles were turning white around the binder from the force of his grip.

_"Due to the overspending on decorations because of unexpected price increases..." _Arthur could imagine Ludwig's voice droning on in his head as he read the report and it really wasn't helping him pay attention.

Despite the concentrated effort to ignore everything except what was written in the book of Ludwig, Arthur could still feel his traitorous ears straining to hear the conversation coming from Alfred's desk.

_'Focus,_' he chanted in his head, despite the fact that he could feel his concentration rapidly dwindling.

"Hey, Matt, you have to let me take a picture with you in your costume OK?"

From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Matthew straightening from where he was leaning over Alfred's desk.

"What do you need a picture for?" The entire sentence was breathed out like an exasperated sigh.

"Obviously I'm gonna make it my new FB profile pic," Alfred replied, not looking up from the school ground plans the two of them were going over. "We'll be red and blue like the American flag and it'll be awesome. Oh yeah, should the stage go here? Right in the centre and with plenty of space for mosh pits, yeah?"

Arthur shook his head and attempted to block out the noise once more (he was doomed to failure, of course. He was convinced that even a deaf person would be able to hear Alfred's voice). He didn't need to hear this – didn't _want_ to hear it. He didn't need to know anything other than how to stay under budget because the committee's overspending was just getting ridiculous. He could care _less _about pictures and balls because he had bigger things to worry about. Namely, how all this throwing money about like it's confetti was setting a very bad precedent for the committee and Student Council's futures.

Fine, the two of them could take all the pictures they liked at the ball. He had no problem with that. In fact, they could even have matching profile pictures like all the other sickening couples on his friend list. Why would that be a problem? He could simply unfriend Alfred – he'd been looking for an excuse to do just that anyway. All Alfred ever did was clog his news feed with reposts of chain letters, his twitter and tumblr updates (Arthur was nearly drowning in tweets and reblogs), and invite him to stupid events like election dates in _America_ when Arthur was nowhere close to having – or wanting – American citizenship.

Or better yet, he could just deactivate his facebook. It was a stupid website anyway and he'd regretted joining right after he had gotten the first e-mail notification. He wouldn't want to be around for that inevitable moment when Matthew changed his relationship status because then it would be truly over for him because facebook was like the marriage registry of their generation and-

And obviously there is something seriously wrong with him because he is not supposed to care this much about some profile picture. Frivolous spending, thousands being spent on crepe paper, things that are important and need undivided attention – _Focus_, damn it.

_"Stage rental rates were also increased part way through planning due to factors beyond our control..."_ The imaginary Ludwig was now clapping his hands in a frustrated attempt to regain his attention.

"We're hiring a band, Alfred. One without electrical guitars."

Arthur imagined Alfred wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Dude so it's gonna be slow dancing?" There was a pause as Alfred considered it. "So you'll save one for me right since I am your-"

He wasn't irritated. No, of course not. He had no right to be irritated, after all – this was none of his business and he was just eavesdropping because Ludwig's report was so dull he could probably list it as a cure for insomnia.

Nope, his stomach was churning and twisting like that simply because he had gone without tea for too long. It was definitely not rolling around his body like it was trying out for the circus because of _emotion_ or something equally stupid like that.

Really, just who did they think they were, parading their love and affection around like that? They were acting like teenagers on valentines – with the slow walks while holding hands (that only served to clog the hallway when people like him needed to get somewhere), the public displays of affection and those hideous pet names.

They had no consideration at all. Many of the other students currently in the office were suffering from dismal love lives. Not Arthur himself, of course, but… but Ludwig!

Yes, Ludwig – his invitation to the ball had just been rejected by Feliciano (in the most surprising turn of events ever). Arthur had heard something about Lovino asking – or forcing, depending on who you asked – his younger brother to go with him so that he wouldn't be able to go with 'that potato bastard'. And Ludwig was, no doubt, depressed beyond belief – Arthur paused to shoot a sympathetic look in Ludwig's direction. The other boy was currently typing something up on his laptop and… casually eating pasta with Feliciano? What the hell was he doing there?

Arthur shook his head forcefully and tried to wipe the shocked expression from his face. No, Ludwig was definitely depressed. It took a keen eye, yes, but Arthur could see it – the rage and despair bubbling up inside the other boy at having the object of his affection dangled in front of him only to be snatched away every time he reached out.

Arthur snuck a quick glance over to the other side of the room where Matthew was trying to snatch a pen away from Alfred before he drew doodles all over the ground plans. He quickly turned away from the scene and back to his book of salvation with a huff.

If Feliciano had any decency at all, he would have stayed away from Ludwig. Obviously, Ludwig couldn't handle seeing him so soon after such a brutal rejection. The boy had put everything on the line with that one invitation – he needed time to recover… to save face. He needed time before he could act like everything was normal, damn it, to put those unwanted feelings to rest with an alcoholic drink or two! But no – Feliciano selfishly chose to hang around the office, not one day after the incident, and harass the poor boy. Obviously he didn't know what it was like to lose everything you thought you'd wanted. Or what it was like to have it parade around in front of you, knowing it was out of your reach since it was currently helping Alfred finish his drawing-

"Shit," Arthur cursed softly as a piece of the binder broke off in his hand. He could feel Ludwig glaring daggers at him from across the room and, fearing that another lecture was imminent, he began to rummage around his drawers for tape or glue or _something_ to make Ludwig stop staring at him like that. Yes, see, _those_ were Ludwig's true feelings. He had just been waiting for someone other than Feliciano to take his anger out on (but Arthur didn't much fancy the idea of that someone being him)

It was while his head was stuck inside his drawer – partly in a genuine attempt to find the glue stick he _knew_ was in there somewhere and mostly to hide from Ludwig's stare – that he felt someone approach his desk.

And knowing his luck he had a pretty good idea of who it might be. After a moment of hesitation he decided to keep his head inside the drawer. His chest clenched and his head throbbed in protest but he ignored it. He _really_ didn't feel like talking right now and if there was ever an opportune time to play the "selective memory loss" card it would be now.

"Uh… Arthur?" A voice asked softly, sounding confused as to why Arthur resembled an ostrich burrowing its head into the ground.

Arthur screwed his eyes shut. It was said in such a soft voice it wouldn't be surprising if he didn't hear it. After all, his head was currently stuck in a drawer and everyone knew drawers were as good as sound vacuums.

But he heard it. He hadn't wanted to – oh he _prayed_ that his ears wouldn't pick up on the sound but hear it he did. The signs that he had heard were all too obvious in the tense way he held his position, his too stiff posture and the hands that stopped in their quest for the elusive glue stick. But he hoped Matthew wouldn't notice those things.

"Arthur?" A little louder this time but even more hesitant. Still, Arthur couldn't pull his head out of the drawer. He didn't want to face him -

'_Damn it, damn it, damn it,'_ Arthur cursed mentally. It just figured that he would be all too aware of Matthew the one time he wanted to – needed to – ignore him. Of course it would work that way. His palms were sweating and sticking to the wood of the drawer they were pressed against. He suddenly felt dizzy from the indecision currently racking his brain – could he still save face by pulling his head out of the drawer or was it too late? Did he _want_ to pull his head out of the drawer?

The silence between them stretched on and seconds were all too reluctant to turn into minutes. Or had it been minutes? He wasn't sure – he was too busy praying that the other boy would finally take the hint and leave-

"That's really odd," The voice mused icily as its owner turned and walked back to his desk. "He remembered this morning…"

And not caring that it would look incredibly suspicious to jump up as soon as Matthew returned to his seat, Arthur sat up so quickly he hit the back of his head on the underside of the desk. Without sparing even a second to curse, he ignored the sharp throb in his head, grabbed his satchel and stalked over to the office doors, stopping only once along the way to leave a glue stick on Ludwig's desk.

* * *

Arthur relaxed when he heard the bell jingle above his head as the door swung shut behind him. He scanned the small café for an empty seat and immediately headed over to his favourite booth in the back of the room, loafers making a sharp sound with each step on the hardwood floor. The café was mostly empty in the late afternoon – a few students working on a group assignment and a professor marking papers were the only other customers. His eyes drifted across the room as he waited patiently for a waitress to take his order.

This store was his favourite on campus. It was nestled deep into a forgotten corner of the school in between the old bookstore and some sort of photocopier room with nothing but a worn sign and chipping red paint on its windows to signal that it was a café. It didn't attract much attention from the students who chose to frequent the flashier Starbucks that was conveniently placed next to the dorms. Most of the café's customers were either professors – who found it during their years of exploration of the school – or students who managed to catch word of it somehow (Arthur himself only found out about the café after an older student recommended it to him).

"Just the usual, yeah?" Arthur gave a start and looked up to see the waitress smiling down at him expectantly.

"Yeah," Arthur said, eyes widening when she promptly set a teacup and saucer in front of him. He shot her an accusing look which she laughed off.

"You haven't changed your order at all since you first started coming here," she said, walking back to the counter, tea tray in hand. "It's faster when I don't wait for you to order."

He couldn't help but smile to himself at that as he pulled the sugar and milk closer to himself. This was exactly what he liked about this place. It was cozy, quiet and it felt just like afternoon tea back in England. He would only have to look up from whatever old novel he was reading and there would already be a steaming cup of tea waiting in front of him.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard the doorway jingle open once more. He nearly dropped his spoonful of sugar when a familiar head of wavy, blond hair walked through the entrance. Arthur cursed softly to himself and attempted to diffuse his way into the booth. When his attempts at osmosis failed (damned booth) Arthur settled for putting his head down in his arms, hoping desperately that Francis would somehow overlook his table.

He would have thought that anyone with even a single brain cell would be able to see that he had left the Student Council office to be alone with his thoughts. Clearly he was giving Francis too much credit again.

Arthur scowled down at his tea when he felt Francis slide into the seat across from him. He straightened up and – since he was on a roll anyway – decided to ignore the other boy until he left.

He carefully added sugar into his tea, pretending not to hear Francis ask the waitress for some coffee. Arthur couldn't decide if this was some sort of misguided attempt to comfort him or if Francis was being purposefully annoying – maybe it was a bit of both.

But Arthur didn't need comfort because he didn't feel bad about what he'd done - the acid churning resentfully in his stomach begged to differ but that would soon be taken care of by the tea – because it was an accident. It had happened before and Matthew had always brushed it off with an accepting grin so why should today's incident be treated any differently?

('_Maybe because it wasn't an accident this time, you prick_,' the tidal wave in his stomach responded.)

He was about to hiss a few choice words at his stomach when Francis finally spoke up.

"Have you ever forgotten something important?" Francis asked suddenly. When Arthur looked up from his staring contest with his stomach, he saw the other boy simply stirring cream and sugar into his coffee, his expression unreadable.

"Well, despite what my eyebrows have apparently led you to believe, I _am_ still human," Arthur commented dryly as he set the teaspoon carefully at the edge of the saucer. "And humans make mistakes."

"Something really important," Francis stressed. When Arthur raised an eyebrow at him he elaborated further, "It's for my paper."

Arthur considered it for a moment as he lifted the cup for a taste. Personally, he severely doubted that such a paper existed but he was feeling charitable today so maybe he would play along for a bit. Besides, he wouldn't put it past Francis to take a psychology course.

"Well, now that you mention it," Arthur replied slowly. "I did forget to staple my report last week. I was in such a rush that morning – last minute editing, you know? - And I thought that it wouldn't be a big deal. Obviously I failed to realize that my professor is an anal-retentive git. Is that the kind of thing you wanted?"

"I guess it'll do," Francis shrugged. "Now, why did you forget it?"

Arthur frowned and mulled it over. The staple had just seemed so inconsequential at the time. His mind had been strained past breaking point between student council activities and the report due that day. It was just one of the mistakes he tended to make when distracted.

"I don't know… it just seemed so unimportant. I was focused on getting my concluding paragraph just right."

"Aha," Francis said with a triumphant smirk. He even clapped his hands together as if he had just made a startling discovery. Arthur frowned, he really didn't think his staple story required that much of a reaction. "But after that incident you are unlikely to forget the staple ever again, yes?"

"Well, yeah," Arthur replied absent-mindedly, more focused on stirring his tea. "I had to run around the entire bloody building looking for a stapler, you know. In the end, I had to borrow Elizaveta's stapler and she wants a favour from me – and her favours are anything but sane. Last time she made me pose for a picture with her boyfriend and it was all so shady-"

"So in other words, you've realized the importance of the seemingly unimportant staple," Francis cut in.

"Yes I guess so," Arthur said, frowning at the other boy. They stared each other down from across the table for a minute before Arthur finally looked down at the table with a sigh. "Where is this going, frog?"

"You see, we have just established one thing, yes?" Francis said, smiling as he folded his hands together and leaned forward on the table.

"That I won't forget to staple my papers?" Arthur replied hesitantly. He really hated whenever that smile surfaced on Francis' face. It never meant anything good and right now it was telling him that Francis knew something he didn't and it was definitely going to be lorded over him.

"Not quite," Francis said, shaking his head though his smile remained in place. "More specifically – that you are unlikely to forget something once you've realized its importance."

"So what?"

"You haven't forgotten Matthew recently," Francis said suddenly, the smile finally disappearing from his face.

Arthur let his teaspoon clatter back onto the saucer as he finally realized Francis' objective. He should've known the instant he saw that smile that he should turn tail and leave or maybe refuse to play along. Now he had been backed into a corner without even realizing it. He eyed the door hopefully but something told him that Francis wasn't going to let this go that easily.

"I've been keeping track, you know, because it was suspicious," Francis said casually after he took a sip of his coffee. "For your information, you haven't forgotten for two weeks now."

"Ah, yes, well," Arthur stammered, mind scrambling for a way to explain that fact away. Part of him was proud – because he hadn't noticed he had been able to remember for so long – while the other half was mortified. If he had been able to remember for two weeks then wouldn't it be weird if-

"One week I could brush off as luck," Francis continued as if he had read his mind. "But two weeks? I could only conclude that you had finally overcome your selective memory."

Arthur stared down at the table top guiltily. He had no response because Francis was right. He could hardly hear Francis' words over his rapid heartbeat which gave his guilt away with every too fast, too loud thump.

"So isn't it odd that you couldn't even hear him today?" Francis asked in a falsely innocent tone as he levelled Arthur with a cold stare. "That you couldn't even _sense_ his presence?"

Arthur opened his mouth to object that it was an accident – because that was all it was. Humans made mistakes and Arthur was still human so it wasn't strange-

"Especially considering the fact that we have just established," Francis cut in before he could even get pass the first syllable. "That you won't forget something after you've realized its importance."

His thoughts came to a shrieking halt and he could only stare at Francis' – annoying, stupid, smug – smiling face in disbelief, his mouth still open in a silent objection.

His shoulders slumped as all of the fight drained out of him. It was over – he'd been found out so easily. He cursed himself over and over for not being a better actor, for not keeping the guilt from his face and for not being able to ignore Matthew the one time he actually needed to – stupid memory loss never worked in his favour. And now it was all over – Francis would tell Matthew what happened and he'd be hated forever but that would be OK because he deserved it.

Arthur made a soft noise of frustration and as he ran a hand through his hair. No – it wasn't OK. He didn't care if he deserved it or if he had just acted like a giant asshole – he still didn't want to be hated. He couldn't even _tolerate_ the idea but he couldn't do anything about it because Francis knew and _of course_ Francis would tell because the frog's mouth was bigger than the Mariana trench-

"So, why'd you do it?" Francis asked and Arthur glared at him for still acting unaffected when he was about to ruin his life.

"Does it matter?" Arthur muttered. "Look – it was a stupid split-second decision and I regret even _entertaining_ the idea."

"So why?"

"I was just pissed off OK?" Arthur snapped. He really couldn't explain what caused him to ignore Matthew like that. At first he was just annoyed – as usual – because Alfred was being loud and obnoxious but the more he listened the more annoyed he got and soon he was feeling incredibly angry. Even worse was the fact that he couldn't figure out _why_ he was so angry which only irritated him further and in the end he had taken the entire thing out on Matthew. "I was… I was angry at Alfred because, well, he's annoying and then… I can't explain it but just- Just when Matthew came to talk to me I _really_ didn't feel like speaking to him and…"

"Hm," Francis fixed him with a curious stare before abruptly turning to stare out the window. Arthur _really_ hated him when he got into these moods because he would act all mysterious and all-knowing when he was just a frog. "I think I get it."

"Oh good," Arthur replied, feeling inexplicably relieved. He didn't get it himself and if someone could shine a light on the situation then he would gladly welcome it (even if that someone was Francis). "Maybe you could-"

"You like Matthew."

Arthur could only be thankful that he hadn't been drinking tea at that moment because he was sure he would have ended up spewing it all over himself, the table and Francis and that would have been very unfortunate indeed.

* * *

A/N: Argh I'm so sorry. I tried and tried but in the end I could _not_ fit the ball scene in. I have a feeling the ball will end up being at the climax so it's probably going to take another chapter to get to that point. Urgh. I'm sorry, feel free to throw bricks at me.

I wanted to get this chapter up as soon as possible because I recently got the 'operating system not found' error on my laptop which means I'm going to lose all my files very soon. Argh. I actually meant to get this out sooner but it kept getting longer and longer and I had to edit out more and more and the end I would write 1000 words only to delete the last 2000 I had written. But I only have one thing to clarify this chapter:

1. Mariana Trench - the deepest point in the ocean (but it's actually not that wide). I could've just said Grand Canyon but I thought trenches were much cooler (plus Marianas Trench is a Canadian band - that you should listen to /shot - so I thought it was more relevant to the story)

So, anyway, next chapter Arthur will finally get some much needed help from his best frenemy and hopefully some progress will be made because of this. Or not, because maybe Francis' magical love powers can't permeate through that much awkward. Who knows? Haha well, please leave a review? (:


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